Lessons To Be Taught
by SevenShades
Summary: Because even though he's the best, even though he's better than her in everything, there are still things that need to be taught. Quidditch isn't easy, and neither is love.


Okay. So this Rose. And Scorpius. Enjoy, and review. ;-)

* * *

**Lessons To Be Taught**

She isn't good at Quidditch, and she's never been. Of all the excellent traits and skills passed down to her, she did not receive the Weasley knack for Quidditch, the special wizard talent for playing to be as effortless as it is to breathe.

Quite frankly, after all the instinctive avoiding, she probably doesn't even know how to operate a broomstick anymore.

But Rose had been perfectly okay with that—or, at least until _he_ showed off his mad flying skills.

She resents him. She looks at him with jealousy, contempt, and… love. A weird mixture of emotions and feelings, but he seems to tolerate it.

Perhaps he feels the same way.

But honestly, she doesn't know why she likes him so much. Besides his occasional show of interest and male-model-attractive looks, there isn't much else about him. He doesn't have charisma and charm. He doesn't try to talk to her about what _she_ enjoys (reading books, going traveling, writing and playing Muggle board games), he'd rather drone on and on about himself.

Why does she adore him? It's a little embarrassing not to know the reason behind your own love for someone, but this situation is very excusable. Scorpius is simply not an easy person to love.

So, what does Rose see in him? His shameless arrogance? His constant persistence (and success) at beating her in every subject and activity? The way his personality is so much like his father's and grandfather's?

She doesn't know what she sees. To tell the truth, he hasn't been a very good boyfriend lately.

Actually, he hasn't been a good boyfriend since they started going out, a month ago. He's never been a good boyfriend, not to Anne or Nanette or Lily (yes, even Lily dated him) or Mabel or Bridget or Rina—it doesn't matter who the girl is, he has been—and probably always will be—the same.

So then this is her revenge? For defeating her in every area of interest and study, she's going to beat him at his own game?

Yes. That's exactly right. She'll master Quidditch, kick his sorry arse, get signed into the Holyhead Harpies (like Aunt Ginny was) and rule over Scorpius like crowned royalty.

_Ah. That's nice._

Rose bites her bottom lip and picks up her broom. It's the newest Firebolt—she doesn't know what version it is, but Harry and Ginny gave it to her for her fifteenth birthday, half a year ago.

She hasn't touched it, not even once, until now.

Because she's going to practice. She's going to train and push herself to the point of exhaustion, to the point where Scorpius begs for mercy.

That's what happens when your boyfriend is your sole rival and opponent.

*******

There's this one place, a hunk of land nestled by trees, which happens to be Scorpius's one haven. It's on the castle's grounds, of course, but far from the school itself. It is a grassy, always partly cloudy place—just right for flying around or attempting new Quidditch tricks. As one of Slytherin's best Seekers since the nineties, Scorpius feels the need to do more than the horrid team practice Captain Baddock issues every now and then.

He hasn't told anyone of this secretive little place of his—he doesn't like to share. He'd never tell a soul.

So then how is it possible that Rose here, mounting her broom, gazing half-nervously and half-defiantly at the pale blue sky?

(But on a side note, she really does look pretty like that. Maybe he should take a picture or something… Hang it up. On the ceiling of his room, back at the Manor.)

"Weas—Rose? What are you doing here?"

She seems startled, but only for a second. Her eyes flicker to his face, and she says (in a quite blunt, level-headed tone), "Quidditch."

He blinks, sure that she's bluffing. "Ah. Practicing, huh? You should try out for Gryffindor's team." He smirks a little at his own sarcasm. "Although, just for your information, I heard you have to be really good to get a spot there."

A pause. "What are you trying to say, Malf—Scorpius?"

He shrugs innocently. "Oh, I dunno. But did you ever hear about how your father was a 'king' to the Slytherins back in his day—because of his _brilliant_ Keeper expertise?"

Another hesitant pause. "Yes," She responds blandly. "I heard about that. But he after a while, he really did become a king, right? To the Gryffindors?" A flicker of pride flashes in her eyes.

"Right. Sure." A nod, and he's suddenly growing into a mini-Draco. _Stop stop stop!_ "But, uh, you told me earlier that you take after your mother. And Muggle-borns aren't supposed to be _good_ at this Wizarding sport."

Rose grits her teeth. Struggling to keep her 'strong-willed woman' façade in place, her mask crumbles for a moment and she looks visibly bothered and… _nervous?_  
"Shut up. I—I can do this."

"So you're saying that you want to be a little _princess_ next to your father, the king?"

Is this normal boyfriend behavior? Shouldn't he at least _try_ to be nice?

She takes a deep breath. "You're a prick. I understand that. But could you just leave me alone? For just an hour or so, Malfoy?"

Scorpius cocks his head to the side. He truly _feels_ like a Malfoy right now, and he's not sure how to stop himself. "Oh, so we're back on last name basis now?"

She replies with an icy glare, tightens the grip on her broom—a Firebolt Five, he notices with appreciation—and shoots up into the sky.

The minute she sets off, he bursts into a hacking fit of coughs, an undisguised attempt to stifle a laugh. She flies in a quite wobbly manner, broomstick jerking left and right, like a bull trying to throw off its rider. Out of her control, the broom skirts around the secret practice place, swooping and almost brushing against the tops of nearby trees.

Somehow, Rose isn't screaming (which her mother might have done if she was in the same situation). Her shoulders are relaxed and she looks calm, which Scorpius can distinctly notice from afar. But unbeknownst to him (she's much too high up), her face is wears an expression of panic and terror.

"Weasley!" Her broom is starting to spin and twitch out of control… See, he _so_ told her so.

The Firebolt Five keeps going, this way and that, twisting and almost… shuddering.

Can a broom shudder?

"_Weasley!_" Merlin. He's losing his Lucius-Draco self-righteousness now—she's about to hurt herself!

Her hands are sweating, slipping from the broom's handle. She's grappling for nothingness, clawing at air.

"_Rose!_"

She falls, like a stone dropping out of the sky. A wide-eyed Scorpius fumbles for his wand, which is somewhere in the pocket of his robes, but he can't seem to pull it out. It's stuck, hooked onto some part of his clothing, and she's dropping height—much too quickly.

He leaps, with a jump that would impress any Muggle Olympics competitor. He makes it just in time as Rose _thump_s onto him.

There is a splash as she rolls off.

He realizes that, as he leapt to be her cushioning mattress, he'd soared right into a puddle of mud.

_Bloody hell._

There is silence, then. Scorpius turns his head slightly to face his girlfriend, with an audible wince of pain as his neck muscles burn. His ribs sting and his head and back hurt, and yet he feels a small twinge of gratitude. To God or Allah or something. Or Merlin. For, you know, not killing him and his girl.

By the time he turns around, Rose is staring in his direction already. She looks like she's about to apologize, guilt and shame written across her freckled face.  
But then, on the brink of a heartfelt _I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!_, she inaptly changes her mind.

"I suck at flying," She says mildly. And yes, she uses an (uncalled for) American accent.

"You do," Scorpius agrees hoarsely. He pulls himself out of the mud, stretching his now sore body. _Something_, possibly his back, makes a loud cracking noise.

But in actuality, even with the throbbing aches, he's suddenly in the mood for some Quidditch. He doesn't know why—maybe it's the abrupt inflation of his ego for being a hero. Maybe it's because he's the school's best Seeker. Or maybe because of Rose and her persistence earlier on.  
Now he just wants to _play_, or _practice_, or just fly in general.

Psh. Boys and their sports.

"Here," Scorpius says, offering Rose a hand. She takes it gratefully, and he pulls her up. The mud makes a sloshing sound, and they both look down at themselves.

"Shit." He says. "We're covered in this stuff."

"State the obvious, will you?"

He looks at her for a moment, something oddly compassionate (Scorpius? Compassionate?) flickering in those smoky eyes. A crooked but warm grin spreads splits his usually-tightly-pressed-together lips into an uncharacteristically bright ray of light.

Dumbfounded and taken aback, Rose repeats what she said earlier.  
"I-I s-suck at flying." She stutters. Who would've known that he looks so… _fantastic _when he smiles like that? "I-I knew that, and you probably knew that, but I just wanted to…" Her voice trails off, unspoken words of his unfair superiority hanging in the air.

"I'm just no good at Quidditch," Rose mutters again. He doesn't need to hear her ramble on about the injustice of it all. "How do you do it? How do you fly and... and... _win_?"

He watches her face for a moment.  
"Well," Scorpius begins slowly. He bends down, snatches her broom off the ground (where is had thudded down a minute ago) and puts it into her dirty, muck-covered hands.

"I can teach you," he says.

*******

By now, everyone knows that Rose Weasley has become Gryffindor's new Seeker. It's strange, because you'd expect her to follow in her father's footsteps and become Keeper. But no, she is the Seeker, the Snitch-catcher, whatever you'd like to call it.

What is also odd is the fact that her dear cousin _James_ is the Keeper, and Albus is Center Chaser. It seems like they, too, have not followed in their father's footsteps.

Rose likes to taunt Scorpius, because she's reached the point where her skills are equal to his—if not better.

But Gryffindor hasn't played against Slytherin yet this season. No, not yet.

When they do, however, they won't _play_, as James (_Captain_ _Potter_, as he likes to be called) says. They'll kick butt, win the game, and send the little snakeys run crying home to their mums.

And Rose has to play against her boyfriend.

With a sudden shiver, she mentally takes back what she boasted to him earlier.

She isn't level to him, after all.

*******

He twirls through the air like a flying acrobatic. It doesn't matter what type of broom he rides—he could hop onto an antique Shooting Star and still be able to pull off his amazingly swift moves.

She feels a bit jealous as she flies in swirling, graceful-but-nothing-in-comparison-to-him loops, tailing the flapping green-and-black material of his Quidditch robes.

"Scorrr-pius," She wheedles into his ear, urging her Firebolt to go faster. "Afraid I'll beat you?" He does seem rather uptight, tense.

"No," he shoots back with a dazzling smile. "I'm afraid you'll throw a hissy-fit when I win."

"We'll see about that." Rose swoops to the side and drops down a couple yards, spotting a familiar, fluttering golden ball. Noticing this, Scorpius follows her eyes and dives after her, arm outstretched.

"Oh, no you don't!" She snarls when he rushes ahead of her, speeding up. He glances at her sideways and reaches out with a smirk, fingers almost brushing against the Snitch…

She tries to swipe at the quivering winged sphere, but misses (probably on purpose) and pushes his arm away instead. The Snitch escapes, plunging down quite suddenly.

For a second, the two nemesis Seekers stare at each other.

And then they plummet.

_This time,_ Rose thinks,_ he doesn't need to save me. And even if he did, I wouldn't let him._

She freefalls until the Snitch is inches away from her fingers, begging her to seize it, calling out to her. She lunges forward, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels the slightest trembling touch of the tiny ball's wings brushing her palm—

And it's gone. She opens her eyes just in time to see James—all the way across the field—let his jaw drop in anger and shock, see all the Slytherins rise up from their seats and cheer, yelling and shouting and whooping.

"Wha—" Rose begins, confused. "What happened?"

"Oi, I thought you were supposed to be _smart_." Scorpius chuckles behind her. She turns around, puzzled…

And sees him standing there with a victorious grin, Snitch held up and gripped in his hand.

He's won.

Because he's better than her at _everything_.

*******

Okay. So maybe he shouldn't have rubbed it in her face so much, later on. But he feels _happy_, and he always does, when he wins. He feels happy to be number one.

He doesn't feel as swollen with pride as he should've, though. It's as if the teacher has beaten the student—no surprise, nothing unexpected. It doesn't feel _fair_, or _real_, as it would have if she had defeated him.

Or maybe it's just because she's his girlfriend.

And, um, Rose is a little… down. Quieter. Upset.

She barely talks to him.

Not even to break up with him.

So are they over or not?

*******

Scorpius passes her in the hall. Waves.

She forces a smile and waves back, but crosses over to the other side, near the wall and away from him. She continues walking in a bit quicker speed, avoiding his gaze like the plague.

"Hey, Rose!" He runs after her and grabs her arm. She looks down in a half-curious, half-disgusted way, as if he's just contaminated her with an odd mutant virus, before yanking herself out of his grasp.

"What?"

He's annoyed now, and maybe even a bit angry. She doesn't have to be so… _cold_. "Why are you being such a sore loser? I didn't do anything wrong!"

Alright. The truth is that he's done a lot of wrong things in his life, but now is not the time to mention them.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Rose says, crossing his arms irritably. The Bloody Baron shambles by, rolling his eyes. _Teenage drama…_

"Oh, really?" Scorpius asks in a skeptical tone.

She meets his questioning stare. "Yeah. Really."

"Hmm." He taps his chin. "Then why are you acting like I'm some type of contagious cancer?"

Rose glares at him. "I'm _not_, Malf—_Scorpius_."

He just looks at her expectantly, waiting for the truth.

She sighs. "Okay. It's just that you're better than me in everything I do, every game or sport or subject. I can't _ever_ be the best, even though we're in different houses and Gryffindor is doing pretty good, but—"

Her voice is cut off as he suddenly jumps onto her and presses his lips to hers, passionate and fervent and soft all at the same time. They crash onto the floor, a mess of black and green and red.

When they break apart, he rests his forehead against hers. "That's it? Then I'm sorry."

There's a sharp intake of breath as Rose meets his stormy eyes. "W-well... you didn't really _do_ anything, so…"

They look at each other for a moment, the way they had a week ago on the Quidditch field, before standing up and awkwardly smoothing out their robes. The portraits on the wall, pictures of coiffed and elegant witches, giggle and blush at them, embarrassed to be caught watching.

Scorpius tugs gently on Rose's hand, which is now enveloped in his large one, pulling her down the hall. She doesn't know where they're going until he reaches the destination, that _one_ corridor, the one that seems empty and lonely without the usual paintings and decorations and posters.

"You know," he says with a smile, when he's finally assured of their privacy. "There's one thing I'm not good at. You're probably better than me at this, even with what I just did a few seconds ago."

"Really?" Rose quirks up a brow. "What is it?"

Scorpius chuckles. "A little game called love," he says.

"Hmm," She closes her eyes and leans against his chest. "You seem pretty capable at playing it."

He hides his smile in her hair. "No. I'm no good, actually. I mean, _love_? How do you do it?"

She grins, eyes opening.

"Well, I can teach you," she whispers, and leans up to kiss him again.


End file.
